Pocket.

Dear Fleur.
I had another dream last night. An important one.
•
I was in Germany. In a concentration camp. Wearing a white dress that blossomed out from my hips and cut off at the knees. It was stained with brick dust. There were 2 big pockets hidden in the folds of the skirt.
I had a friend. She was gorgeous. I think she was a Jew from Austria or something. I don't know. She spoke English though. Her name was 'Kinder.' And she had hair the colour of burnt amber. Her dress was green. A forest green. With no pockets.
I think I was the only one who had a dress with secret pockets.

Everyday, we would wake up, and work on this one house in the middle of the camp. The man who had owned it, was dead. But he had collected books. Amazing books. The whole house was filled with them. And our job was to clear it out and burn them. Everyday.
Our supervisor was a younger man. 22 or 23 maybe. He had a nice face. Not like the other guards and Nazis. His eyes were soft. And he spoke English. His name was 'Tendel' or something hard to say like that. And he was in love with Kinder. He would walk by as we filled wheelbarrows with literature, and he would lightly touch her hair. Or you would catch him staring at her wrists. And clenching his fists. He was upset. And that was important.

I smuggled books. Usually Beatrix Potter(I don't know how they would have her books) or French novels. I would hide them in my pockets. And Tendel would let me. And then at night, I would read them to Kinder. And Tendel would listen through the window of our bunkhouse.
I was the only person who could read.

After we would finish work everyday, we would have to run from the house to our bunkhouse. Tendel was our escort. As we dashed across the yard of dirt, the Nazis would throw bricks at us. Not at Tendel. But anyone else. Occasionally, one would clip your feet. Or hands. But they never got lucky. They never hit out heads.
I think I was the only one who knew they weren't really trying to hit our heads, they wanted to hit our hearts.

One day, after working, I slipped a Bible into my pocket. But as we ran back to our bunker, it fell out. And the other guards saw it. Tendel reacted quick. I grabbed the book. He grabbed me. And ran. Back to the house.
Bricks were flying past our heads.
I was punching him in the chest. Screaming for him to put me down and go get Kinder.
She was falling behind.
We reached the porch.
And turned back to look.
She was on the ground.
He ran back.

The whole world stopped.

I approached the man who had saved my life. He was in the dust. On his knees. Kinder in his arms. He was rocking back and forth. Lightly singing a Swedish freedom song. Crying.
But she just wasn't there.

She was gone.

A pile of Dickens was burning next to us. Ash and pieces of paper swirling around the red sky. The Bible was in my small hands. A dead girl in his large ones.
It was a German Bible.
She was an Austrian girl.
•
I wasn't scared when I woke up. In fact, I thought it was beautiful.
And now I want a dress with big pockets.
Love, Bella.